James' Birthday Plans
by 8of9
Summary: A week before his 29th birthday, James has an idea of how he wants to mark the anniversary of his birth. He decides to plan ahead. Rated T for language, drug use and suicidal themes.


**James' Birthday Plans**

_James' POV, contains spoilers for the movie. Trigger warnings for detailed descriptions of cancer symptoms, drug use and suicidal thoughts. Some mild bad language._

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A week before my 29th birthday party I woke to pain. Red bloody agony, to be precise. As soon as I could overcome my self-paralysis enough to breathe, I groaned to alert my mother that I was awake. We had a well established morning routine by now.

She appeared with a hefty dose of liquid morphine and a cup of water with a straw. She slid an arm behind my back and lifted me enough so that I could drink the medication, ignoring my bitten back cry of distress at the movement. We both knew that the sooner I could drink the dose, the sooner my pain would recede enough for me to think clearly. I swallowed once, twice, then sipped some water and breathed deeply. Slow and controlled, that's the ticket. A few times the taste of the medication made me retch and the reflex spasmodic contractions of my abdominal muscles had me screaming in agony.

Not today. Today I just had the usual back pain from the evening dose of pain relievers the night before wearing off. This was my normal now. I lay back on a pillow to support my shoulders and my mother brought me my laptop. I would need to keep still for at least half an hour while the medication kicked in, so I might as well surf the internet in the meantime. I had some research to do.

After my mother was gone, I surreptitiously went through my morning routine check. How much more sensation had I lost? I needed to do this before the morphine made me numb. The cancer was pressing on my spine and although each day no particular difference in sensation was obvious, I was definitely losing ground each week. I pinched down my leg front and back. Last week I had tingling around my knee in response to my pinches. It was a strange kind of pins and needles which was painful, but preferable to the numbness that was creeping up from below.

Today there was nothing. I could see my own fingers pinching my skin hard enough to leave white fingernail marks which slowly turned red before they faded. But even watching my hands, I could not convince myself I could feel it in my legs. The tingling was present in my thigh, and I pinched myself there hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. It was a relief to know that I could feel something, anything.

I lay back, panting with the pain and effort of those small movements. I would relax for a few more minutes before I attempted getting up. I opened my bookmark at the _Exit_ _International_ website and resumed reading where I had left off the night before.

I was only halfway through the _Peaceful Pill_ ebook when I was distracted by a sudden flush of heat through my lower abdomen. Oh shit, it was about to happen again. I threw off the covers and tried to ignore the protests of my aching body in order to rush to the bathroom. I was too slow, and the new numbness in my knees made them lock at unexpected moments. I at least made it to the bathroom door and onto the tiles before my bladder let go and I wet myself.

I slammed my fist against the bathroom wall, then leaned my head on my hands and wept. For my dignity, which the cancer had eaten. For my life, which was ebbing away before my eyes. For my lack of control, which the drugs were taking away from me.

My mother must have heard and guessed what had happened. She appeared in the bathroom door with a mop and bucket. She stripped me and put me in the shower – we were both past the initial embarrassment of the first few times. By the time I was out of the shower the bathroom was clean with only the smell of bleach to remind me of how much I disgust myself. I can understand why Miles doesn't want to come near me. Hell, if our positions were reversed I wouldn't want to come near me either.

I dragged myself back into my bedroom and began the task of dressing myself. I was by now used to having to sit down to put my pants on, used to having to lift my legs with my hands and manoeuver them into my trousers. I took a breather before attempting socks.

More or less dressed, I lay back on top of my bed and reopened my laptop. The cancer had eaten most of my skills already, but at least until I needed another dose of pain medication my mind was clear. I could plan. For my birthday next week, Bill and Davy (and Miles if he decided to show up) were planning to take me on a trip down the coast. If I planned well, this could be chance to wrench control back from the cancer which was consuming me. I would not have to let my life be pissed away into muzzy drugged dreams and erosion of everything that made me who I am. I wanted to go while I still had happy memories clear in my mind. This would be my moment to choose, to decide, to make my own destiny real. It would be a final act of defiance and self-determination in an unfair universe. Those who loved me would not have to watch my ruin and decay any further. I would go while there was still something of me to love and say goodbye to.

There's nothing tragic in that.

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_So, yes, another slightly autobiographical piece. I'd be interested in what you think of it – please leave me a review!_


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